Daddy's Little Secret
by Shira Lansys
Summary: You close your eyes tight and wish that, for once, the squeak of the floorboards outside your door was just him walking past. But it never is. Warnings: Very dark. Graphic descriptions of child abuse and statutory rape. Harry/Lily Luna. Oneshot


**Warnings: Incest, statutory rape, child abuse, etc etc. This is basically a story in which Harry sexually abuses Lily. If you don't want to read that, turn back now**

As you dance confidently into the house, you already know what everyone's reaction will be.

They're all sitting around the breakfast table, and they're surprised to see you skip through the front door. They thought that you were in bed, rather than out in the big wide world.

They're even more surprised by the fact that you have blue hair.

Albus glances up from the _Daily Prophet_, raises an eyebrow, and goes back to the article he was reading. You grin at him, hidden behind his newspaper. You knew he wouldn't condemn you for it, but you also know that he has the sense to stay out of the upcoming explosion.

James gapes at you, speechless. That's okay; you are certain that your mother will summarise both their emotions.

"And where have you been, young lady?" Ginny asks, her tone dangerous. Her eyes are not fixed on you, but on your hair.

You steal a piece of James' toast and take a bite. "Hairdressers," you say, deliberately talking with your mouthful.

"At this time of the morning?" Ginny's voice has enough ice in it to sink the Titanic.

"Yeah."

"And what have you _done_ to your hair?"

"What does it look like I've done?" you ask impudently.

When the resulting metaphorical explosion of temper occurs, you suppose that you probably did deserve it a little.

xXx

If you thought that deliberately rebelling against your parents would give you a break from _him _that night, you soon find out that you were wrong. By one in the morning, you're almost drifting off to sleep, comforted by the knowledge that you might be _safe_ tonight.

The creaking of the floorboards wakes you instantly.

Your body is stiff with tension as the weight of him causes your child's single bed to sink on one side. James and Albus had double beds by the time they were twelve, but for some reason you still have the same bed at fifteen that you had at five. You're a little too scared to ask why that is.

"I thought you'd be too mad at me tonight," you say, your voice small. The way you say it makes it sound like you're frightened of the idea he might be mad at you, rather than the fact that you're frightened by the idea that he _isn't_.

"It doesn't look too bad," Harry says gently. "Your mother is very angry with you, though."

His hand gently strokes your hair, and you shut your eyes, waiting for it to be over, wishing it was over. You wish the whole holidays were over, so you could be back at Hogwarts. So you could be safe.

His other hand trails down your body, stopping at your chest. He never used to pay it so much attention, before you went to Hogwarts. But ever since you got bigger there, when he comes into your room at nights, he's started caressing your chest like it is something amazing.

You focus on breathing, in, out, in, out. You hate the hitches in your breath when he rubs over your nipples, and when his hand sinks below your waistband. You can't hold still for that bit; you squirm in discomfort. His breathing picks up at that, coming out heavier and faster. You know he thinks you squirmed for a different reason.

He pulls your hand across to his groin, to the large bulge in his pants. You know what he wants you to do, and you do it; the sooner he gets what he wants, the sooner he will leave and you can sleep.

He's gentle; he's always gentle. He's never actually forced himself inside you, like you know a man does to a woman. Somehow, that just makes it all the worse, like you should be grateful to him for being so kind and never hurting you.

He rubs at you, and you hate that it feels nice. He knows exactly where to touch, exactly what to do, and you feel yourself getting wet. That was the worst thing about growing up, even worse than growing breasts. It betrayed how good his caresses felt to you.

Soon it's not enough for him, and he pulls himself out of his pants. He wraps your hand around himself, and moans ever so quietly. _'We wouldn't want to wake mummy now, would we?'_ he'd said to you once_. 'Let's keep this Daddy's little secret.'_

"Kiss me," he grunts, and you sit up to peck his cheek. He stops you as you lean up. "Not there," he says, and you feel like crying.

His uncle used to do this to him, he tells you as you take him in your mouth. His uncle hated him, though, and he was rough and it hurt. He's nice to you, he says. Much, much nicer. He doesn't want to hurt you. He never hurts you.

Your mouth fills with the most disgusting taste as he finishes, and you want to immediately rush to the bathroom. You have to wait until he leaves, though. He wouldn't appreciate you showing that you don't like it.

You have a shower as well, and the blue colour runs out of your hair with the magical shampoo you use, mixing with the clean water and your salty tears as you hold yourself and cry.

xXx

You sleep until noon the next day, even though you only got about three hours sleep in total. Albus catches you as you leave your room.

He takes one look at the shadows under your eyes and your once-more red hair, and _knows_.

"Didn't work?" he asks, sympathetically. You shake your head.

"Five days," he reminds you, because it's all he can do. Remind you that there's an escape. That soon you'll have a whole term's respite.

You wonder if a part of him isn't glad that Harry does it to you. Glad, because otherwise it would be him who'd lie awake at night, waiting for the door to swing open and those heavy footsteps to make their way to his bed, like they used to all those years ago, before you drew your father's attention instead.

You don't blame your brother; you wish it's him who has to suffer it just as much as he's glad it's you instead.


End file.
